An Adventure in Paradise

El Residente 36 Title article An Adventure in Paradise

by Lee Swidler

Kayaking the Río San Juan; The Trip of a Lifetime Part 3

The following recounts the author’s trip traversing the Rio San Juan (which constitutes the border between Costa Rica and Nicaragua) with his son and some friends. This part begins as the four men awaken to the dawn of their third day on the river.

Dawn brought the parrots; small parritas as well as macaws (red and blue). We wanted an early start so we decided to just have coffee and skip breakfast. While the coffee was perking we noticed a lone traveler floating down the river in a dugout canoe. He saw us and paddled over and asked if we knew where the Boca de (mouth of) Rio San Juan was. When we told him it was a few kilometers upriver his eyes widened. He was a Nicaraguan soldier reporting to the check station on the river, had paddled most of the night in the moonlight, and had missed his target. He returned to his dugout and began paddling up stream. About 15 minutes later, the same man came walking up a trail from downstream. Apparently the current had prevented him from going upstream so he decided to hoof it. We gave him some water and peanut butter crackers, and wished him a safe trip as he started his hike to his post. After we had repacked our craft we shoved off to once more battle the river. The air was clear at 7:00 a.m. and we were determined to make some distance before the wind picked up. But the winds had other ideas and started almost as soon as we began, and swells of water were being washed over the fronts of the kayaks. Again, we were making a measly two miles an hour; we were fighting a strong wind and losing the battle. By 10:15 we had to rest and found a large rock to pull the boats onto. Since we had skipped breakfast, it was time for brunch, and we started a fire. We needed the fuel for our bodies and Dave served up some split pea soup over rice. We all appreciated his effort. Then, just as we were finishing up, we saw another small dugout canoe approaching. We soon learned that the canoe was being paddled by Luis, a young teen who lived within eyesight of our picnic rock. As we talked, we could see there was a motorized boat parked at his home, and I asked him, “Does it run?” “Yes,” he said. His dad, Carlos, was the local mechanic for everybody on the river. I asked Luis if he might paddle back home and see if we could hire his dad to take us and our kayaks down the river. He said it would be better if I went with him to talk to his father, but I begged off saying I was too old and skinny to try and paddle upstream to his house. He understood and returned home solo.

After about 20 minutes Luis returned, explaining that if I wanted to hire his dad and his boat, I would have to talk with him in person, “Just hop in,” and he would do the paddling. I boarded his dugout and was soon speaking with Carlos. I asked Carlos if he could take us to the mouth of the Rio San Carlos, about 10-12 km downriver, where we knew there was a small settlement with cabinas. We had planned to spend the next night there. Carlos agreed he would take us, for a price, and we arrived at 70 US dollars. I had just gotten up to leave when he told me he would first have to find gas; he only had a-gallon-and-a-half, and would need six gallons to complete the trip. But, he explained, he had friends along the river and they all shared. I was taken back to the rock in Carlos’s boat where my companions were, and told them what I had arranged. We were all tired and everyone readily agreed that riding was much more desirable than paddling. We set about moving all the gear out of our boats and into Carlos’s panga. The craft was large enough to hold the kayaks without deflating them, and when everything was loaded we set off downriver in search of fuel. The first stop produced nothing, as no one was home, but at the second stop we hit “pay dirt.” We were all quite happy when we saw Carlos returning to the boat with a full five-gallon drum of gasoline. Our pleasure, however, quickly changed to incredulity when we realized that he was carrying the uncapped container down a steep, rickety staircase, gas swishing everywhere, with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips! And the cigarette stayed there as he transferred the fuel into the boat’s gas tank! We could see the fuel vapors swirling around him and we were holding our breath! This was the only time we were all thankful for the wind. Fueled up, we headed east, and an hour or so later we were at our destination. We all drank a few cold beers before we wished Carlos a safe return. We gave him a few packs of the cigarettes that we had brought for the Nicaraguan soldiers, figuring he would need them for his next refueling. Before shoving off he invited us to stay at his finca if we ever passed that way again, explaining he had over 600 acres of land and he would love to show us around. He said the area was loaded with macaws and toucans. The cabinas were basic, but for ten dollars we got clean beds, a private bath, and cold water showers. Meals were extra, but very cheap, and the electricity was on from 6:0010:00 p.m. We all cleaned up and returned for more beer. Bob and I showered first while Cody and Dave played pool. Then we elders proceeded to show the younger generation how the game is played. Ariana, the lady of the lodge, asked us what time we would like to eat, and at 7:00 p.m. we were sitting down to another meal of “river shrimp.” It doesn’t get any better! That night we slept like logs; no hammocks, no frog, no bugs, and no rain. The next day we would depart, fresh and ready, for the final push to the end of the river. To be continued...